No Use Crying About It
by As-Long-As-I'm-Around
Summary: Steve comes for his team. They may be alive, but not all is well. Wanda angst, and Protective Steve!
1. He's Telling Me I Shouldn't Be So Mean

**'And if you need me, I'll be there.'**

 **A/N: This was begging to be written. Please be gentle. This is my first time writing Avengers (and doesn't that turn you off already). I would love some feedback.**

* * *

The only good thing about the collar, is that it is a constant reminder to not step out of line.

She finds if she focuses on that, than everything else fades away.

At first, it's hard because she keeps feeling _everything._ And this goes beyond that - beyond the anger, and the fear that wrestle each other for dominance.

In some ways, she feels like she is back in a room, waiting for them to test on her again. Sometimes, she wishes she was because Pietro would be beside her.

At least she was treated as though she still had rights, but she supposed she could not fault them for that.

She's not a citizen, and even if she was, she lost out to those a long time.

Before they had put her in the jacket, and wrapped the collar tightly around her neck, they had asked,

"Weren't you behind creation of Ultron?"

She simply looked back at them.

"Yes."

And so she had confirmed their theory that she wasn't just dangerous, that she was a monster.

She gave them a reason to justify their treatment of her. She gave herself a reason to believe she deserved it.

It was true - she _was_ a monster. She wasn't _exactly_ human anymore.

And she _did_ have blood on her hands.

As the numbers hit second digits, it becomes much easier.

 _21... that's now 21 less people I have to feel guilty for._ She coaxes herself through the pain, and her methods work.

The others didn't exactly see it that way.

"I'm keeping count. I have many different kind of arrows, and I know many creative ways for using them." Clint's voice would be calm, but underneath there was a storm brewing. Wanda didn't need to see his expression to know that he was bearing the guilt for what was happening to her.

"I made my decision."

"You wanted to stay. I forced you to come." Clint replied flatly. Wanda wants to tell him how arrogant that it is, and that she never does anything she doesn't want to do, but she does not have the energy to pursue this conversation.

Besides, maybe Clint needs an anchor, too.

"We'll get out of here, Wanda. I promise. You can come see the farm - come stay with us for awhile. I think it'll do you good to be with us. Take a break from this. Do some teenage stuff."

"I'm no good with kids. That was Pietro."

Clint scoffed.

"Maybe you can come off a bit cold, but I know you. I think you will like being on the land. Away from the city."

And Wanda found she did like that idea very much. And so, she humoured him.

"Alright. I will come visit your house and family."

And so Clint continues talking to her, planning the future. Other times, he is silent.

Sam was expressive each time Wanda is hurt, or another is treated cruelly.

"I know birds are protective of their nests, but man you gotta cool it. They'll just hurt her more." Scott would say something along the same lines every time he and Sam engaged. His favourite nickname was 'Mother hen' and he used it every chance he got. Just, because.

"Birds also eat ants."

"I thought it was worms?"

"Well, in your case..."

"Anyway, they can try. Last time I saw you, you were eating dirt."

"I was trying to find -"

"Guys." Clint would interrupt in some way or another, sounding old. Scott would mumble under his breath and Sam would shake his head as if annoyed, but no one mentioned that the reason they didn't stop was because they needed some familiarity.

Wanda never participates in these conversations. Instead, she waits for the next shock, so she can lose an ounce of guilt, all the while knowing deep down that no matter how many they gave her, it would never be an equal cost.

* * *

She's got bruises, and her neck is aching.

She cannot respond anymore; the last time she did her voice was hoarse and Clint lost it. He exploded against the glass door, his fists banging so hard that Wanda is surprised he didn't break them. They took him away, and when he returned, there was blood. She could only see red then, and she managed to burn through her jacket and make it a couple of steps before they were shocking her over and over again.

She hasn't moved since, except for toilet breaks.

Those she can't bear to think about, because they watch her with keen eyes, and make suggestive comments as if she should be grateful to ever have one of them touch her. She wonders strongly then about the human race, and about how hate and power over someone can mean the same thing, and bring an equal amount of satisfaction.

"Wanda. Hey, Wanda." She looks directly across to Scott, who is watching her with sharp eyes. Sam is sleeping, and Wanda thinks that Clint is trying to stay in a position that doesn't cause him pain.

She doesn't think about that, instead grasps onto the line that Scott is offering her.

"Do you want to hear about the time I used my power to bite someone that bullied my kid?" She nods, and he begins talking, using his hands to express certain points. She is not exactly smiling, but her heart is slowing down as she is lulled by his voice and his words. There is something about Scott Lang that makes one want to be around him in troubled times. He knows how to find means to keep going, and more importantly, to keep the spirit alive.

Not for her - because she's got less than most. What she had was shared with Pietro.

Now in it's place is a hole, which she keeps empty for him.

Sam wakens halfway through the story. Wanda catches him looking at Clint, and looking at her. She knows he is worried, and she adds another tally in her mind.

If she hadn't been shocked, Clint would not have reacted, and that is on her.

She knows she cannot control others, but it is harder to do that when it involves someone you care about.

* * *

There is a buzzing, and muffled shouting.

Wanda knows she should be interested, but after 74 shocks she's not sure she can feel anything except the phantom of pain. She waits for the next one, because it tells her that she is still alive. The reminders no longer come from Clint's soft words or his convictions of rescues, or Scott's twisted sense of humour and the way he can pluck jokes out of thin air.

The door crashes open, and still she can not move, because everything is foggy and she knows that this cannot be real. Perhaps she is asleep?

How many times had each of them dreamed of escape in exactly this manner?

She knows what will happen if she reacts, if she dares to hope. Her heart rate will pick up, her nerves will become sharp - and they will shock her. It is better to wait, then to provoke them.

This, she has cruelly learnt.

"Get Wanda first." That is Sam's voice, and it reaches into her haze. It pokes and prods, and Wanda is starting to see.

"Alright. You okay?"

"Get Wanda first."

"Okay." The voice agrees, and there is footsteps. A pause. An indrawn breath that shudders over her name.

"Oh, _Wanda."_ Steve has crouched down to her level, fingers splayed against the glass as he stares.

Wanda stares back, feeling again because the way Steve says her name makes her feel as if she deserves to.

They lock eyes. She is sure hers are screaming _look at me_ , and his are strained as if screaming back _I am._

He looks at as if he can't stop staring.

"Oh Wanda I...I'm so sorry." She knows there is so much he wants to say, his expression is dominated by something that is similar to fury.

She licks her cracked lips and readies herself to respond. _It's okay._

"Shh, don't. I'm going to get you out of here. Can you move back? Don't speak, just nod once for yes.

She nods and scoots back.

He smiles grimly at her before standing back up, cracking his knuckles on each hand.

"Okay let's get you out of there. On the count of three. One, two, three!"

The glass breaks, and so does she.

* * *

 **TBC?**


	2. These Kind of Wounds They Last And Last

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your kind words. This is for all of you.**

 **Again, please keep giving me feedback by clicking that 'review' button and typing into the box!**

 **I don't have a beta, so there may be mistakes and for that I do apologise.**

* * *

Steve steps through the glass, his boots crunching against shreds of glass as he does so.

Wanda scoots back further away, and he frowns in confusion. Before he can ask her, she is shaking her head so hard that Steve throws up his hands.

"Whoa, stop. Calm down. Let me get the... _that thing_ off." He stumbles over the words harshly; he cannot call it what it is, because then he will have to acknowledge it and think on it, and if he does that then they will never get out of here.

"Don't." She rasps out, and Steve stops all movements at the sound of her tone, and at her request. He grits his teeth and puts a hand over his mouth, before lowering it and taking a breath.

"Don't?" He asks her calmly, and takes a single step forward.

"Steve, get the others and go."

Another step.

"The plan is to get all of you. I'm not leaving a single member behind. Please stop moving so I can free you." Steve's tone is both soothing and grim; Wanda has always marvelled at the way he speaks. Captain America may be a living symbol and legend, but Steve Rogers, the man behind is the true spokesperson, and without him, the other would not exist.

"You don't get it Steve. I need to stay here. Where they can keep me in line. Even when I do good - I always hurt someone. I cannot control this, and it is a waste of time to try. Maybe they can experiment on me some more, work out how-"

Steve lets her talk just for the sake of distraction, or maybe because she needs to. He's definitely not letting her because he has any interest in what she has to say. There is no argument or point that she could make, that would ever make him even think about leaving her. When she brings up experiments, he knows he has to speak up and shut that idea down.

"I think people have been experimented on quite enough, and that includes you too. I understand that the time you've spent here has been quite damaging, on top of the other issues that we all have to work through. And I _promise you_ Wanda, where I'm taking you is a place where we will be safe to do that. This wasn't just some mission. This was family fighting against family, and those wounds will take longer to heal. But I will be there. Sam and Clint will be there. Scott, too if he is able to. That's up to him. But you won't be alone, _alright_?"

It is a pretty speech. Almost convincing - but it is just words to her. Like what Clint was saying to get her to see beyond the present. They do not hold any meaning but are just means to keep going.

"I've been alone since Pietro left me." Wanda says flatly. Steve is now right in front of her, and he considers for a moment how to best broach this subject, in the limited time they have.

"I know you feel that way," He begins quietly, and Wanda looks as if she is going to open her mouth to tel him that's how it _was_ , not how she _feels._ Steve holds up a hand to stop her before she can.

"But it's not the truth. It may always feel like an adjustment, being without Pietro. But you are _not_ alone. I know you lost your brother, but you still have a family." Steve drops his outstretched hand onto her knee, and Wanda cannot help but to flinch. She knows it is Steve, knows that above all he is gentle and kind, protective and caring - but she has not felt a painless touch in so long that her body doesn't recognise it. Steve notices, and a look of anger flashes across his face.

"Right. Lots to work on. Alright, Wanda. I'm going to cut this off. Can you please hold very, very still for me?" Wanda tenses, both in obedience and fear as Steve comes closer, his face looming towards her and his hands going for her neck. She can feel the veins under her jaw throbbing, and her breath still in her throat as Steve clamps down on the leather.

"Alright. You ready? Almost done." His voice is soft against her ear, and a second passes, and then the collar is being pulled off her and flung across the room.

"Good riddance -oh, _Wanda_." Steve sounds so distressed that Wanda is concerned, until she realises his fingers are hovering around the flesh at her neck. She hears him swallow, feels the a slight brush and trembling of his fingers as he grazes over what she is sure is bruises. He is doing a good job at restraining himself for her, but she can feel the need in his body, knows that the urge to charge is strong.

"Steve. The others. We must go, no?" He huffs out a breath, shakes his head and then reaches down for the jacket.

"Right. Okay, just gotta cut this and then we're done. Please, don't move." He cuts through, and then helps her unravel it. He tosses it into the corner, over the collar, and sits there for a moment, head bowed low.

Wanda thinks about how she is going to stand up without help. She presses her palms into the ground and tries to propel herself up. It works at first, but her legs have forgotten how to support her, and the ground is looming up awfully fast and -

Arms take hers, steadying her and holding her upright. She takes a deep breath, and Steve's arm slide to her waist.

"Lean on me. That's it. We'll do it together, one step at a time."

They go slowly, Wanda heavily leaning into Steve. He is patient, and soft voiced as he encourages her onwards. They reach the broken shreds of glass, and Steve doesn't think as he bends down and scoops Wanda up. Her arms slide around his neck, and she buries her head into his shirt, and just for those seconds she pretends that it's someone else and that she is safe. That it is Pietro and he is holding her through a nightmare and that he is here and it's all okay.

All too soon, Steve is placing her on the ground close to Clint's cage, but out of range from the glass when he shatters the screen.

"I'm going to get him out next, alright? Wait here." He instructs her, and then he's gone. She hears a murmur of words - a warning - and then his fist collides against screen and glass goes flying. She wonders if it hurts, or if he welcomes the pain like she did.

It does not take nearly as long as it did with her - and why should it have? Clint is good, he is a father and husband and so he requires no kind of pep talk. Steve places the injured man beside Wanda, and then disappears again. Clint grunts in acknowledgement, and she wants to reach out and touch him, to look at his wounds and heal them. She wants to feel his skin against her fingers so that she knows for sure that he is out, and with her.

Perhaps he is better away from her, but in the seconds after Steve brought him out, she relishes in the realisation that Clint Barton is free, and beside her.

Wanda does not touch him, because he is already in pain and she knows that there is a risk in hurting anything she touches. She curls her hands under her armpits and just watches him with a sharp eye; it is all she can do.

"You okay kid?" Clint asks her, and Wanda wants to laugh. She thinks if she does, she will never stop.

"You are asking me that? You, who cannot even sit up to look at me?"

"I can too." He tries and gets halfway, before sliding back to the ground.

"Stubborn old man." She tells him fondly. He reaches out and touches her knee.

"Stupid little witch," His voice matches her own, and Wanda reaches for his hand and squeezes. He curls his fingers around hers and refuses to let hers go, and so she sits watching over him as Steve continues doing what he does best.

Saving people.

She does not think she deserves to be saved. Why should she - and not the others?

She could spend the rest of her life trying to make up for it, but no good deed, just like no bad punishment, will ever balance.

The slate will never be wiped clean.

It is now that she feels it the strongest, the pull to be with her brother. They had shared the same birth, it seemed right to only share death, too.

She has never entirely stopped wishing that Vision had left her to die.

Wanda tries to withdraw her hand from Clint, but he holds fast.

"It's okay, Wanda. Remember the farm, the land. Away from the city."

"You don't want me around your children, Clint." Wanda murmurs, and he must hear something in her voice because he is looking up at her now.

"I do. Tasha will come too. And we can make amends. All of us." He does not mention Tony, and neither does she.

Scott soon joins them, stretching his arms over his head and looking down at them.

"Wow. You guys look like shit."

Wanda knows it is his way of communicating that the state they are in concerns them. Clint might have said something creative back now that he was out, but he has exhausted his avenues by talking with Wanda, and is content to now lay there. Glass shatters again, for the last time, and moments later Steve and Sam are stepping out.

Steve claps a hand gently against Sam's back, and the two look at each other for longer than a moment, before Steve turns to Clint. He pulls up him gently, and passes him to Scott and Sam.

Wanda grasps onto the hand that Steve is now offering her. She is tugged to her feet, and then loses the stability as Steve swings her up into his arms.

"I can walk," She grits out.

"Mm hmm." Is all Steve says to her, and then he places her back onto the ground.

Sam and Scott take the lead, both of them carrying Clint's weight between them. Steve and Wanda walk behind them, and Steve can only watch for so long as Wanda stumbles along before he is picking her up again.

"I'm not a child." She is telling him crossly, and there is the briefest smile on Steve's face.

"No," he agrees with her. "But you are a kid."

* * *

 **TBC**


	3. I'm Colder Than This Home

**A/N: Sorry for the late update! I hope this is okay, it's been awhile :)**

 **Please let me know your thoughts!**

 **I'm not really sure but it's something right? ;)**

* * *

The ride is a blur.

She should feel relief at being free, but the knowledge that is deep within her, rooted into parts that she can never go, stops her.

Reminds her that she can never escape.

She senses Steve's gaze on her. He's not shy about it. Blue and intense, calculating and worried, affectionate and something else that is Pietro. She can't bare to hold it, and instead turns away. Curls her arms around her knees, buries her head into her legs. She wishes she could sink into herself, and then stops wishing that because it would be far colder than any place she's ever been. Even grief.

They drop Scott off along the way and Wanda knows she should thank him for his contribution. For being locked away for them, for his banter. For anything. But she looks at him, and he looks at her, and any words she may have had fizzle in the back of her throat.

"You'll be okay, kid."

"How old do you think I am?" She cocks her head.

"Old enough," he says solemnly, and then flashes her a grin before he's gone.

Wanda blinks after him, and is left with the small need of Scott Lang to stay the same, because _God_ this job changes everyone and everything. Sam steers them to where home will be, or so Steve says, but she doesn't believe it.

Home has not been a place for her since she was ten. Then it became a person. And now? It is nothing.

Steve continues to watch her, and she tries to bury her head deeper.

* * *

"Wanda."

She looks up as the cupboard doors are pulled open. Steve looms over her, lips pressed together in a thin line.

"You should be in bed." He's folded his arms, and observes her as if she's a naughty child that he's about to scold. As if it were that simple. As if she was just being rebellious, and was in need of a firm hand.

She wishes that could be the case. At least if it was rebellion, it would be something other than _this_.

"I am fine."

"I didn't get you out of the prison, for you to lock yourself up." She scowls at this. She asked him not to - he cannot take that superior tone with her. She lifts her chin, defiant. His eyebrow moves an inch.

"I'm not locking myself up. I'm just - this helps."

He thinks for a moment, and then unfolds his arms and bends down to her level.

"Does it make you feel safe?" His eyes are very serious as they flick across her face, pulling out the answer before she can even try to lie. He lets her anyway.

"I don't not feel safe."

Steve laughs, but it is obvious that he does not find anything about this remotely funny.

"Wanda, I would be more surprised if you _did_ feel safe."

"Then let me be." The words slip, almost pleadingly, and this halts Steve in his tracks. She did not mean to say them. He is so concerned with helping everyone, being there for them like some kind of saviour. He lowers himself so others can may stand.

He cannot do this for her.

He can't get inside of her and change what she feels. He cannot change time for her - he has only ever been able to go forwards himself.

He is ice, and she is the fire, and he will burn himself if he tries.

"Let you be to hide in a closet? I can't do that." He tells her softly, and slides into a seating position in front of her.

"I know how to take care of myself. I will ride this out, and then it will be over, no?"

"No."

This time she stops.

"No?"

"You were asking me a question. My answer is no. That is how it works, no?"

She blinks at him, and he looks at her. Waits. When he sees that she's not going to respond, he continues.

"I could leave you to your own devices. I could let you do this how you have always done it. But you are now a part of this. Of us. Wanda, I cannot sit by and let your hurt fester. I _won't_ do it."

He keeps pushing and pulling, and dredging it up. She can feel the roots straining within her. They have heels, and they are digging them in to the soil she's sown. They won't come up without a fight, and she's not going to help him.

"I'll go to bed." She pushes herself up, Steve following.

She moves, and Steve puts out an arm, his hand resting on the door in a move to halt her.

Wanda flinches violently, and Steve swallows at the action, his arm slowly withdrawing.

She looks up at him through wide eyes, knowing that she can't take that action back, that he's seen it, and it's printed somewhere that she cannot erase.

Steve's looking back at her, his eyes steel and calm all at once. Beyond that, he is doing a good job in not projecting anything else. She could dive into his head, but she is already drowning in her own.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

She comes to another stop, this one almost as painful as the last. She licks her lips, lets the words past her; she remains untouched.

"I know."

He takes a breath. Lets it out. Leans in.

"I am not going to hurt you."

It's getting harder to ignore, especially when he is right there. She can feel his warm breath fanning her face, and digs her fingers into her flesh.

"I. Know."

"Do you?" He returns, and she takes steps and moves past him. For some reason, he lets her. Perhaps he's tired of the game. She's not playing, and neither is he, but it feels like one nonetheless.

Wanda stops at the end of the bed, remembering why she doesn't want to climb into the empty space. It is so big, and she feels so small. It is so open, and she just wants to shut off. Wanda turns to look back at the closet, and finds herself locked in Steve's gaze first.

She pushes her lips together, moulds them, and then releases them with a quiet,

"Goodnight, Steve."

"Goodnight, kiddo." He does not move, and nor does she.

She gestures to the door. He points to the bed.

She doesn't know why he's making a big deal out of this - well, he's Steve Rogers, so of course he has to - but she knows that he won't be satisfied until she's under the covers.

She trudges to the bed, pulls back the covers and climbs in. Her body moulds to the sheets, and she even releases a comfortable sigh, before looking at him pointedly.

Steve's thinking something, but he eventually nods and turns around. She hears the light switch click, and the room plunges into darkness.

The door closes gently, and Wanda waits, counting her breath.

One, two, three.

Four and five.

She sits up.

Nothing.

Slides her feet, and plants them into the ground.

She pushes herself up.

"Wanda."

A cry escapes her, and she presses her hands to her chest as if she can suck it back in. It doesn't matter, because the light is back on, and she still try to make a run for the cupboard - even though he will see, and stop her, and if he doesn't stop her then he will follow.

Hands arrest her wild progress, and even though she saw it coming, she still lets out a squeak.

"Hey, hey stop. If it helps you sitting in the cupboard then I'll sit with you. You're not being left on your own. You need to understand that. I will sit with you, we can do it your way. But only together."

He's stern, and she wants to argue, but she can't. He does not understand that he can not fix her, but he soon will.

"You are God's man." Wanda whispers, but there is no heat or cruelness behind the words. They are true and strong, and said almost fondly.

He smiles.

"Through and through."

* * *

 **TBC**


	4. Drowning My Thoughts Out With The Sounds

**A/N: Maybe a bit dark? Tell me what you think, and what you would like to see from here. Please and thank you. Also, I would like to address a couple of reviews. First of all, I love EACH and everyone one of you. I love hearing what you have to say, and I read all and feel all warm and fuzzy from each one.**

 **10 of Spades - I'm glad you noticed! I love Halsey, and I think her songs really fit Wanda :) Kudos for the pick up!**

 **TortoisetheStoryteller - I never mentioned where he would be getting dropped off ;) You make a very valid point. I think Scott is sneaky enough to manage to get home... OR... he would completely ruin it and get caught in seconds. There is no in between for him. That's just my opinion haha.**

* * *

Wanda is silent, and so is Steve - but they are not. A million thoughts are flying through their heads, each entwining with the other's, and doubling it. The tension is loud, and it takes everything that Wanda has to not try and disappear into her hands.

To not push and probe at her temples in what would be a futile attempt to stop the noise. God knows that the mighty Steve - Captain America, because he cannot be one without the other - would stop her. So she sits, and endures.

In her weakness, this is her strength, and she has too much pride to give over what she can control.

It is Steve who speaks first.

"Is this a habit of yours?" There is no mocking, but genuine curiosity. Perhaps concern, but he hides it well. Wanda already knows the answer, but she takes a moment to reply. She has to word this right - the memory deserves it.

"You would think that I would hate small spaces. But, when the bomb struck, and Pietro and I waited it out, we came together as one. We made each other small, together. We could not move. Even our breath could have set it off. So now that he is not here, this helps."

She does not want his pity. Besides, Steve is better than that.

"That makes sense. For some, it would be a trigger. But because to you, being small didn't trigger something, it does the opposite."

"Yes." Wanda's confirmation is flat. "So, you see that I am fine. You should go, Steve. I know that Natasha has been calling you. You should go call her back."

He is silent for a long time, so long, in fact, that Wanda turns her head towards him. She tries to read his face, before she decides to dive into his mind. Inside, she finds chaos, and she quickly flings herself out, lest she became lost in there with him.

Besides, she is already lost enough.

"There's a lot of things that I should have done. More things that I shouldn't have. But this? There is no confusion, no blurry lines. I'm not going anywhere. You should close your eyes, and try to get some sleep. Do you want to hear a story?"

Wanda glares at him - but, she is surprised to find that she is curious. What story would Steve tell her? She knows the one that she would like to hear, but she is undeserving of it.

She is not Natasha or Falcon - she is not anyone close to him. She forgets though, that he would do anything to help someone, even if that means sharing his past.

Even if by sharing it, brings it to the future. It is alive in his eyes, in the way that he holds himself. She sees it's rebirth as he readies himself to tell it, the inhale in which he gathers everything he has.

She is almost too selfish to stop him. Almost.

Wanda puts a hand on his.

"Stop. We both need sleep. You need not go into your nightmares, Steve. Not yet, at least. If I can't make you move, then just sit by me."

"You could make me move if you really wanted to." He tells her, and she knows he's testing her. She turns to give him her full attention, and his eyes crinkle at her expression. She wonders if there's red in them. She's not seeing it right now, but that's because she's so tired. Anger takes energy, and hers is shared with Steve.

She has nothing to give to it.

"I could. But there has been enough fighting. Let us have peace."

"The sad thing about peace, is that it never lasts for long."

Wanda smiles.

"Does that mean we shouldn't enjoy it while it lasts?"

* * *

Bless his heart, he falls asleep.

She "drifted off" an hour ago. He started dozing ten minutes ago, before finally succumbing to it. She whispers into his mind, giving him good dreams. It's definitely so she can sneak away, and not to see the smile that she leaves in her absence.

Her feet are quiet taps against the floor, and her movements are sighs. The stillness is nice, and she absorbs it, letting it fill her. It drowns everything out, and she feels as if she is underwater. She is so light that she floats above it, and her eyes slip shut as she lets it take her. To be alone, to not have to pretend, is the real peace. She can be honest with herself, with her body and mind, and she doesn't have to worry about upsetting anyone. Maybe she's selfish for thinking that way. Why is it always about her and how she makes others feel? Hasn't Steve lost Bucky, when he's only found him again? Doesn't Clint have to stay with them, because if he goes to his family he puts them at greater risk, and he himself will be caught? If she was them, she would have told herself that at least she is alone, and doesn't have to worry about the repercussions that her actions will have for those she cares about.

Perhaps a cruel thing to say, but it would be the truth, and Wanda is nothing but honest.

Her eyes snap open, and she suddenly wants to punch something, throw something. She wants to hear things break under her hands. She wants to hear the power simmering within her, feel it shoot through her nerves, bringing her to life. She wants to feel revived and most of all, she wants to stop feeling angry. And to stop feeling angry, first she has to let herself _feel._

She wants the shame and the guilt to stop, the gnawing and clawing of it. It eats her alive, and she lets it, because although she wants it to stop, she doesn't deserve that. She is a killer, and she deserves to die, too. She'll make it painful, and in the end, maybe it'll strip her clean. It's not a bad way to go, for the likes of her.

Her hand snaps out, and the bowl of fruit innocently sitting on the table splits. Death isn't pretty for anyone, not even objects, and it goes with a screech, sending wood and bits of banana and apples towards the floors. Inside that scream, she hears the cries of those that were victim to her mistakes - and there is so many of them. She wonders if Pietro is in there too, because even though he was older, he followed her around. If she hadn't been so caught up in revenge for Tony Stark, then many could have been saved. She was the one to let Tony go, and she can claim blame for the brith of Ultron, and all that happened after.

There was no denying it, no getting around it. She couldn't excuse it, could not justify it. All she could do was live, because they would not let her die.

"You still blame me, then." Wanda flings around, her hands in front of her, energy waiting for her instruction.

Vision hovers before her, and on his face was an expression she had already faced. It was tortured, vulnerable - the exact same when she had stripped him of his power, and then sent him through floor after floor.

She shakily lowers her hands.

"Hello, Vision. How did you breach premises? How did you even know? Is Tony Stark-"

"I would not have brought Tony here. Not when you're this distressed. I will answer your question if you sit down. Could I...is it possible for me to make you some tea? I hear that helps."

A turmoil of emotions flashes through Wanda - confusion, amusement, anger, fear. She cannot grasp onto one; they spiral, and she finds herself pitching forwards under the weigh too them. She cannot even hold one - how is she expected to hold all of them -

Vision is by her side in seconds, his earlier precaution forgotten. He reaches out, and she flinches. Vision pauses, and his eyes flick up to hers, intent and calculating now.

"Wanda. You have to know - I cannot harm you. Did you not even see in the battle, I-"

"Don't take it personally. It seems to be a natural reaction now when someone reaches for me." The words slip, bitter and unchecked, and she quickly mashes her teeth together. But it does not undo what she has said, or the damage that comes after it. She seems to excel in that - speaking of things, doing things, and in the wake hurting those that are in the face of them.

Vision is silent. He studies her, and quickly processes what she has said - and what she will not say. She watches with a thrill of fear - and something else, almost familiarity - as his expression darkens, and the brightness in his eyes dim. She remembers this is what he looks like when he is protective, and the one person he's ever been protective of is her, and she wishes - she wishes -

Well, she's not sure what she wishes. That they could go back? It has never beens simple, never for her, and especially never for them.

"I see. Well, perhaps speaking of my intentions will help. I'm going to take your arm now, and help you to the couch." He very slowly extends his hand again, and his fingers curl so gently around her arm that she barely feels it.

And she wishes that he would hold her harder. What is the worse that can happen? He breaks her? She is already broken.

He looks down at her, and she wonders what he is seeing. Vision pauses, eyes still on her face.

"I see you. As always, Wanda, I see you."


	5. Set a fire to my head

**A/N: I'm really underserving of you guys. I spend about a half hour on these chapters and I really should be giving you a lot more. Well, now that things have shifted and changed in my life (GOOD THINGS) I will be able to give that to you (in like 2 weeks). I also feel like I should point out that I don't have a beta for this story... so there ARE little mistakes, and I do apologise but I hope when you read this your mind is a step ahead and corrects it for me.**

 **I'm not sure how you guys feel about Vision making an appearance... I swear I didn't even know that was going to happen until it did. I have had no negative feedback from it so I will take that as a positive. I think you will like this chapter. But I am no Wanda, so the only way I can tell is if you let me know!**

 **Also - I'm not really sure of this chapter?**

* * *

It is all very well for Vision to say that - that he sees her.

But what does he mean by that? What is it that he is seeing? She is no good thing, but Vision has told her this two times now - and both times has said it very tenderly.

Like it _is_ a good thing.

His eyes are on hers, and she opens her mouth to ask him exactly this when a voice interrupts her.

"Get away from her!" It is barked like a protective dog, and Wanda is having a serious sense of déjà vu as Clint comes striding into the room. Vision turns, and it does not pass Wanda that he is now in front of her.

She is seconds from rolling her eyes. Don't they understand? She doesn't need protection.

 _They_ are the ones who do. Not her.

And even if she did - she certainly would not need it against Vision, from Clint Barton _._

"Did getting knocked down a couple of floors make you deaf? Do something to that head of yours? I said _get away from her._ "

Everything about Clint is screaming mission. She sees it in the purposeful strides, the clenched fists. His eyes are dark and spitting warnings that if Vision doesn't move, then Clint is going to do some serious damage. Which of course, will end up with himself hurt.

Wanda steps in front of Vision, and Clint falters.

There has been enough fighting.

"It is alright. Please, stow that away. You too, Vision. What happened was not personal-"

"But it is." Clint cuts her off, and although is voice is no longer loud, there is still that firmness underlying each word. He turns his eyes on Vision, who is appraising him carefully, but still doesn't speak.

"You all let her stew in that prison cell. I can't even touch on what that has done to her emotionally, but I definitely can give you a report on what was done to her physically."

" _Clint_." The word slips out, and it is a warning, a plea all in one. Clint's eyes flick to her eyes quickly, and then back to Vision. He is looking at Clint, eyes just as hard now.

And finally, he speaks.

"Let her stew in that prison cell? I can assure you, we did no such thing. Why do you think it was so easy for Steve to rescue you?"

Clint barks out a short, sarcastic laugh. It is the kind to let the other know that what they said isn't funny - but a damn bad joke.

It sends chills up Wanda's spine.

"Thank you for your 'help' then. Do you know they put a choker collar on her?" There is a heavy, terrible silence, and with it Wanda remembers. She can feel the collar digging in, can hear the guards laughing as they press the button.

She can feel her body shuddering and shaking under the pain because that's all it can do, all she is capable of doing -

"The terrible things they would say to her?" Clint presses, digs at Vision. Wanda hardly cares right now; she is just as faraway as Clint's voice sounds.

 _"I'd love to be under her now."_

 _"That body can move. I wonder what other pain she would enjoy? I wonder how she would move under -"_

"A - a choker collar?" Vision whispers, and his torment is strong enough to pull Wanda out of her memories. She can't look at Vision, but his own pain spills at her and she turns to Clint.

Clint, who looks almost satirised now. She knows he wants to hurt the others as they've been hurt. Not for himself, because Clint is not selfish. But for her - and she can't let him do it.

"Clint, stop it! Can't you see how this distresses him? The important thing is we're out, and we need to move forwards. I may have been left to stew in a person cell as you said - but I will not stew on this."

Clint is gaping at her, as if incredulous that she could say such light things, when what was done was so heavy. She wishes that he didn't know, that it was only her burden to bare. But he does know, they all know, and their knowledge is shame to her.

And Vision - who was born old, suddenly looks so young.

"What was said?" He asks Clint, and doesn't wait for a response before turning to Wanda. She bravely meets his gaze head on this time.

"Wanda? Did they - what - " He stops, and tries again.

"Please, tell me what happened to you."

"No. I won't. And neither will they." Wanda looks at Clint now, and he shakes his head at her.

"Sorry, sweetheart. These are secrets that can't be kept. I thought in time you might open up to Steve or, hell, even me. But you're not, and I understand you won't. _Don't_ , Wanda. Don't try and brush it off. I'm not going to tell it now, because you're right. It is distressing, and it would be insensitive to what you went through." Clint then looks to Vision, and the tender expression he had while addressing her is long gone.

"I'm not leaving her alone with you. Not until I know you can be trusted. You need to know that some horrible things were done to her, and I was powerless - we all were - to do anything about it. But now I'm not, and I'm going to do what I can to make sure that she is not hurt again."

Vision is silent for a moment, and Wanda recognises his calculating look. She knows his need to process everything, so that that he can have the right response to it. She sees his frustration, sees his anger that is all wrong from him. She wants to tell him, like she has done many times before, to take his time. There is no need to rush. But she can't, and it is not because Clint is seconds away from beating an answer out of him.

"I would welcome you to protect her. I do not ever want her hurt. The only say I have in her safety is what I can do to help. I'm - I'm very sorry that she was hurt." He looks at her, and she cannot hold his gaze, so she looks down.

When she dares to glance up, they are staring at each other, and she feels almost as if she is intruding - even though she is the subject.

She doesn't know how to feel about that. She wonders if it says more about them, then it does her.

Clint says he felt powerless to help her - and now that he isn't, is trying to make up for it. And Vision, well, he has always been pro life. Of course he doesn't want her hurt. He doesn't want anyone hurt. Deep down, she knows it is more than that, but she does not want to acknowledge it, or what it means. Because once she does, she will never be able to let it go - and she knows that eventually, when they realise what she really is, they will be doing that to her.

In the lapse of her focus, the memories began to whisper around her again. She feels it as she feels her own energy. The only difference is, that she has no real control over it. She cannot channel it, or order it to be gone.

It controls her.

 _"Come on, love, give us a bark. Or a bite, you little bitch."_

 _"You think this is pain? What about all the ones you killed? This is nothing."_

 _"Aw, Adam, she seems to like pain. Do you want some more, you little witch?"_

She must make some sort of noise, because now Clint and Vision are staring at her. She holds up a hand as she backs away, and startles as she hits a solid chest.

She turns around, hand still outstretched. Fingers curl around it, interlocking hers with theirs. She looks up into Steve's pinched expression, and tries to move away. He holds tight, and then brings their hands down to the side.

"Good evening, Vision. I'm surprised it took you so long to visit." Steve's voice isn't exactly cold, but it's not warm, either. He takes Wanda by the shoulder with his free hand, and shifts her so that she is now standing beside him.

"Good evening, Mr. Rogers. Well, it took only a small amount of time to find you. The other was spent wondering if it would do more harm than good. It seems to have worked out that way."

They are all suddenly looking at her, and she isn't sure exactly where to look. She tugs her hand again, but Steve's grip only tightens.

"I see." His voice is hard, and his eyes narrow. "Well then, I politely have to ask you to leave. I will not have you upsetting anyone here. I mean no disrespect, but everyone needs - time. Things need to settle down."

"Steve - it's okay." Wanda says, and he looks down at her, eyebrows raised.

"It's not, Wanda. Vision, she will contact you when she decides she is ready. And tell Tony that as delightful as it is to receive drunk text messages, if he could not ignore me the next day, that would be wonderful. Have a safe trip home. Clint." Steve dips his head and then spins himself and Wanda around.

"Mr. Rogers, if you could contact me at a suitable time to discuss Mr. Stark..." Vision calls after them, and Steve only pauses for a second.

"Consider it done. I'm not sure when and how, but I'll find a way. Say goodnight, Wanda."

She wonders when she let Steve Rogers speak for her. But he looks down at her, and in the face of his anger, she does not argue. Besides, she thinks he is right. As good as it is to see Vision, it is all too soon.

"Goodnight," She murmurs very quietly, and sneaks a look over her shoulder. Vision is watching her, and an ache blossoms inside her to rid the forlorn expression from him. But Steve is herding her out, and all she can do is offer him a smile.

His face slightly brightens, and she knows that all is not lost between them.

* * *

"This has gone on for long enough now." Steve has taken her to his room, and she sits under his stern gaze, feeling like a scolded child again.

"There is nothing going on. Just let me be. Let us move on from this. You should speak to Tony, and hear what he has to say. He might surprise you." She is no longer interested in grudges, because she is still living the effect of them.

"You don't need to concern yourself with that. When it comes to it, Tony and I will be okay. It's a process we've done before, and I'm sure there will be more after it." But there is something off in Steve's tone, and Wanda picks at it and brings it to life.

"You don't sound sure. You know as well as I do, that this time is different."

"Yes, it is. Which is exactly why I will not just let it be. Where do you want to start? The choker I had to cut off you? The jacket? The things that were said?"

"You were listening!" Wanda accuses him with a snap.

Steve folds his arms across his chest.

"Of course I was. You think a confrontation like that would go unnoticed? What comments were made to you in the cell, Wanda? I already know that they have hurt you. I think they have rubbed salt in those wounds with their words."

"It is nothing." Wanda's voice is flat and firm. She will not speak of these things.

Steve raises his eyebrows. He is not letting this go, and Wanda knows that try as she might to slam the door shut, Steve will burst through it.

He is not just strong physically, after all.

"I could have gotten this story from Clint. He seems eager to share it. That in itself concerns me. His words tonight concerned me. You concern me, Wanda. I see some of the stories in your flinches. There's hurt in those." He moves to the bed, and kneels in front of her. Her fists are clenched tight, and he reaches out and takes them in his hands.

"Some of them are in your eyes. They spill out - your anger, your belief that you deserve what was done." His voice is quiet now, but it fills the room; there is no space where he isn't anymore. She closes her eyes.

She knows he still sees.

"Let me in. Talk to me about it, honey." Wanda's eyes snap open at the nickname, because Steve Rogers does not do nicknames. He does not say it awkwardly, nor does he seem to have any remorse in saying it. His eyes are gentle and kind, and his thumb is now rubbing soothing circles into the skin on her hand.

"They were just cruel, because they could be. That's all there is to it. Yes, it was painful. Yes, it's carried over, but it's only been - I will get past it." Wanda's voice matches Steve's; it is barely a whisper. Steve watches her for a moment, before he pulls away with a sigh and stands up. Wanda feels the loss of contact, and wraps her arms around herself. Steve sees, but he does not stop pulling back the covers, and patting down the pillows.

"Come on, under the covers. You need to sleep, and I need to know you're alright. Don't look at me like that, Wanda. I've already slept, remember?" He points, and the bed looks inviting, and something has shifted between her and Steve, although she's not exactly sure what it is, and all she can think of is that he is here, and so she will be okay. It is not exactly a good thought, but she cannot find anything bad in it.

And like before, because she is tired of fighting, she obeys.

Steve looks down at her, and he is not exactly smiling, but he's not frowning either.

"I'll be right back, okay?" He tells her, and then turns towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

He debates with himself for a moment, and then sighs out his answer.

"Just to see if things are okay. Go to sleep, Wanda."

She thinks he's meant to sound reassuring, but he doesn't. She calls his name and he turns, eyebrows dipped as he patiently waits.

"Please don't ask Clint. Please. It is my story, and so I should be the one to tell it. " She is not above begging anymore.

He regards her very seriously for a moment, and she knows that he is trying to work out if she is trying to placate him. She sees the responses that flick through his head, and the frustration and concern before he finally settles for one.

"Okay, Wanda." He switches off the light, and the room goes dark. She thinks he's gone, but then he says very quietly,

"I won't be long. Call if you need me."

The door then shuts, and Wanda sinks down into the pillows, and eventually, into her nightmares.

She's given up on fighting, and so any barriers she had in place are gone.

Just as gone as she is.


	6. If There's A Light At The End

**A/N: I was inspired...**

* * *

She keeps thinking about the nickname. She knows now that if she is ever to have the substance again, she will see Steve in it, like an invasion.

Exactly what his words have done to her now. She sits in the bed, fingers pressed into her ears. She knows more than anyone that it won't block out her thoughts. It won't block out the ideas that he is given her. Steve, with his arm around her. Steve, with his gentle touch, his kind eyes and warm smile. Steve, with his ability to make those around him feel safe. Above all, she wants that. With safety, comes a sense of peace. She is undeserving of such things.

Wanda buries her head into the pillow and mashes her face against the material. She wants to take the case off, and ball it into her mouth. She wants to choke on it. She wants it to end. She wants to meet death like an old friend. She wants to see Pietro, who no doubt would be waiting for her, to guide her through to whatever was next. She knows he's not entirely gone, because she won't let him go. Even now she can feel his presence, attempting to soothe her, to wrap itself around her.

"Pietro." She whispers the name almost religiously, turning her head to the side. She opens her eyes and almost expects him to be sitting there, smirking down at her.

"They really did a number on you, didn't they?" He would joke, but there would be the anger in his eyes, the crinkle in his head as he studied her.

Grief does not get stale. It does not get any easier. So when she remembers and sees that he is not there and never will be again, it hits her all over again. She is going in circles. Pietro, guilt, torment, _nothing_... it all comes in waves, and she can never catch her breath as it dumps over her, and pulls her under.

So she continues to drown.

When there is a lull - and there always is between torment and feeling nothing - she thinks about Clint and Vision. It is Clint that seems the most changed. His anger burns bright, and she wishes he would let it go. It will not change anything, and there is no reason for him to feel such things on her behalf. She is surprised at his words, at how he spat them out as if his body was rejecting them. As if the knowledge is some sickness, and he needs to release it. Sharing it and talking about it will not cure it. It will just infect others. Steve has more than enough to deal with. There are stories still to be told, and she thinks she will never hear full truth about some of them. She makes no demands for Steve to speak to her of these things. They are his horrors. She only wants to be there to help. She understands all too well about not speaking, lest the demons escape her and breed into the people she cares about.

Wanda forces herself to stretch out. She lays straight on her back, and closes her eyes. Whatever barriers are left are beginning to break, and she needs to regain her strength to build them back up. Steve's questioned her when she slept last, and she wasn't being stubborn or just trying to spare him the truth when she did not give him an answer. She doesn't know.

She fills her mind with her childhood, with memories of her parents, of Pietro. Of the time she simply calls 'before.' Her mother's face is still strong in her mind; in looks, Wanda is becoming more and more like her everyday. Her father's image has faded since Pietro left her, but she still can recall his sunny disposition, the way he always had time for her. The memories are not enough - they never are, but she slowly begins to sink into sleep, knowing in the back of her mind, that she is sinking into something else entirely.

* * *

Steve wants to go after Vision. He's never entirely been comfortable of the relationship between the android and Wanda, but he told himself that was because of the impropriety of it.

Steve is usually good with a crisis. He knows how to keep a calm and level head. He has a firm instinct of right and wrong, and what to do in the face of disaster and threat. He is known for his good judgement, for the way he handles and keeps everyone in check. If they could see him now. He hardly knows what to do with this. He has repeatedly failed Wanda. Clint is pacing in front of him, muttering angry sentences that Steve can barely follow. He has Tony reaching out to him only in inebriation, and then whatever break through was achieved is forgotten the next day in sobriety. He's managed to have only small chats with Sam, who has been understanding every time Steve has had to cut them short. Sam, who simply lets him get on with things, who has told him that there is nothing to forgive. Sam is the loyal one, the one who deserves more than Steve can give him right now.

And Bucky is another territory that Steve can't even think about - even knowing where he is, and that he is safe. Even knowing that being frozen again is the best solution for now. He cannot think of his friend without wanting to bawl like a newborn.

Steve takes a deep breath. He has to start somewhere, and Clint is tied in with Wanda.

"Clint. I think it's time we had a conversation, don't you?"

Clint stops and turns to Steve with a twist of his heel.

"Yes. I know she doesn't want to tell you, but I'm a father and we know what's best for our kids."

"Our kids, huh?" Steve crosses his arms across his chest. His tone may be serious, but even he can feel the smile that pulls at his lips.

"Yes. I've raised that little firecracker. I only wish I didn't encourage her stubbornness." Clint's tone is both fond and weary, and then he sinks down onto the couch that is behind him. Steve follows, keeping his eyes on the archer.

"They said some horrible stuff." Clint's head is buried in his hands, and Steve reaches out slowly, before dropping a hand onto the other's shoulder.

"I know." He says, because he does.

Clint fiercely shakes his head.

"You don't. When they would shock her - it went beyond just name calling. They got a real thrill out of it. Fucking pervs. I can't tell you how much it killed me to sit there and be unable to do anything in the face of that." Clint's fingers are clenched in hair hair, and Steve can feel how tightly coiled Clint is. Steve knows that Clint is reliving it as he speaks. That he can't detach himself from this.

Steve is having a difficult time remaining stoic himself, but he knows that if he doesn't, he will be right there with Clint, and they might get lost in the memory. One can do that. They could spend a lifetime telling it differently, imagining it different, and getting stuck in their own head.

"Keep going," Steve says quietly.

"I can't be sure - there were times she was taken away. I don't think they would have touched her. I questioned Wanda every time and she denied it, but something passed between them. Something was done, beyond what we had to witness." Clint is looking at him now, face haggard, dark circles under prominent eyes.

Steve swallows words and focuses. "Why was she taken away?"

"Toilet breaks. Food breaks. Punishment." Clint's voice is sharp with bitterness. "Whatever they could use against her, really. And the thing is..." Here, Clint pauses and debates, suddenly unsure.

"The thing is what, Barton?" Steve slightly loses composure here. Up until now, the other has been eager, almost desperate, to tell what transpired. It worries Steve now that Clint wouldn't be so forthcoming. His fingers clench around Clint's shoulder, not in support but as a threat. Clint studies him, and whatever he's looking for he must find because he continues as if he didn't stop.

"It was as if she lived for it. Those punishments. It wasn't as if she were biding the time. It was as if she wasn't alive until she was getting exactly what she thinks she deserved. Whatever problems we have - we have bigger ones."

Clint's words unravel something in Steve. He's not exactly sure what it is - if it can be defined by one thing. It is many, and it is hungry and thirsty. Steve pushes himself up from the couch and heads in the opposite direction. He knows that he should not walk away from a conversation like that. He knows he should offer something to Clint. But everything he has, is feeing into this beast that has awoken inside of him. He hears Clint call his name, resigned, and ignores it. He doesn't know where he's going, but he wishes reverently that there was something he could physically fight, because things that he can see and kill, are much easier to deal with than the things that live inside your head. The feelings, the memories, truths that you cannot escape and cannot demolish with your hands.

Steve somehow manages to come to a stop in front of his door. His hand goes to the knob, and then drops to his side. He can't see Wanda like this. He needs to be in control. And then he wonders if that its the problem.

If he shows his vulnerability, if she sees what's feeling and how raw and real it is, that she deserves this kind of love and care - then maybe, she will feel it too. Maybe in the face of it, she will not be able to dismiss it, she will not be able to look away or deny it. It will surround her, and she will have no choice but to bathed in it.

Steve opens the door, closes it and then strides in. He immediately stops in his tracks as he takes Wanda in. Wanda, who is groaning in her sleep, her limbs twisting this way and that. He can just make out the tears on her screwed up face, as she murmurs phrases he cannot understand.

And then she says something he can.

"No."

He is the deliverance, the saviour. He can do this thing - he can stop whatever it is that she is saying no to. He will pull her out from wherever she is now.

"Wanda." He grabs her arms and pulls her up. Her eyes fly open - they are wide and alarmed. She is not lucid.

"Wanda, it's me. You're dreaming. I'm sorry I left you alone for so long. I'm here now." He tells her, over and over again, until the fog in her eyes clear. In those seconds, he sees everything, but before he can say anything she pushes away from him and curls onto her side and away from him.

Steve takes a moment, before he is kicking off his shoes and taking off his jacket. He moves to the other side of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Wanda has not turned to look at him, but he does not need to see her face to hear know she is scared.

"I am getting into this bed, and then getting some sleep. We both need it. I know what awaits you, and I will be here to help you." This has her attention. She turns onto her side sharply.

"You know?"

He looks at her very seriously.

"I know."

She opens and closes her mouth. Her brows dip, and he can see the questions start to form in the space.

"You can't know." She says flatly, and then rolls back over.

"I know enough. Light on, or off?" Steve dips onto the bed. His hand hovers over the lamp.

"It is dark anyway."

"So light it is." Steve sighs, and then settles onto his back, inching as far away from her as possible. "Go to sleep, Wanda. There'll be time for questions and answers tomorrow."

"I'm trying."

"I'm here." He reminds her softly. She looks over at him, and then at the lamp.

"Light off, please."

He leans over and presses down once, and the room depends into darkness. He keeps very still. One wrong move will send her scurrying away.

Wanda hesitates, and then inches over to him. He can feel her looking at him, as if asking for permission. Steve uncurls an arm.

"Come on, kid. Let's get some sleep, huh?"

He will not move to her. She needs to do this herself. She pauses again, and then finally closes the distance, curling into his side and dipping her head onto his chest. Steve waits for a moment, letting her settle and giving her the choice to retreat. Only then does his arm come around her and rest on the small of her back. He closes his eyes.

She trembles under the touch.

He curses each of the guards back at the prison, and makes a note to find out exactly who was working, who was giving orders, and who is still alive for him to to integrate.

For now, all he can do is focus on her.

"It's just us, Wanda."

"It's never just us." She is quick to reply, and once again Steve sighs.

"Well, I'm strong enough to fight whatever else there is." It is corny, but he can feel Wanda smile against him.

"I don't think anyone is."

"Not alone," He agrees with her. "But together? Unity is a powerful thing."

She looks up at him, but he keeps his eyes closed, smiling himself when this time, she has no reply.


	7. Maybe I'm A Different Breed

**A/N: I am really sorry for the delay? Thank you to everyone who reviewed and asked me to continue, and for your thoughts, and just generally for taking the time to read. I appreciate you.**

 **TRIGGER WARNING. Guys, I feel like I should put a warning on this chapter. If you have had an eating disorder, please think carefully before reading. This is NOT going to be one of those stories for many reasons, but Wanda does struggle with her food, and we will find out later why. I'm just warning you ahead of time, and I hope no one is offended, or triggered, or upset. If you are, talk to me about it. Love to you all.**

 **I'm not really sure what to make of this chapter. It has been so, so long since I have updated, but I hope I kept it in place, and I hope it was alright. Please tell me your thoughts?**

* * *

She's surprised that she wakes up to sunlight. Perhaps, this is a good omen. She blinks, and then sits up, looking to the space where Steve should have been. The spot is empty, and she reaches out, touching it. Warm, not cool. He hasn't just left her alone. Her heart swells in relief and something else, but she doesn't have time to think about it when Steve steps back into the room, his hair shimmering with water droplets.

"Good morning," he says, and then peers at her closely. "How did you sleep?"

"I slept...good," she says, and then frowns at the admission. Steve doesn't say anything for a moment, but sits beside her on the bed. She doesn't flinch, and she's not sure if it is because they slept so closely together, but she still feels safe. Maybe it's the light, and the dawn of a new day. She has always loved the mornings.

 _Nothing bad happens in the day time, Wanda. And nothing bad is going to happen to you while I'm around._

It is a younger Pietro telling her this, and then it changes when they are pressed up against one another, scared to relax even one tightened, cramped muscle in fear it will set off the bomb and implode them.

 _Nothing bad is going to happen to you while I'm around._

And then, an older Pietro, after their parents are gone, and they are changed and different and not exactly human anymore. Death does that. Evil does that. It steals, it takes and gives nothing back to them, and so they must find it themselves.

 _I'm still around._

Steve places a hand on her shoulder, and she turns to him with wide eyes. It is not true - bad things happen at any time, at any place, and even someone with the best intentions cannot always keep you safe. Steve can't keep her safe.

Maybe it's because _she's_ not safe.

"Hey, where did you go?" Steve murmurs to her quietly, and then leans over to her as she looks away, her eyes going to the door. She hears the sigh, the disappointment, and suddenly feels angry at him, at herself. What do they want from her? And then it's quick to deflate, because Steve already has enough to worry about, and she doesn't need to add to that.

"No where," she says, and fixes her eyes on him. "I'm still around."

Steve opens his mouth, but is cut off when there is a knock on the door. It is thrown open a moment later, and Clint comes dashing in, only to pull up short as he realises that Steve is not alone. Clint frowns as his eyes track to Wanda, and then back to Steve, the disapproval clear.

"I'm sorry," he says, sounding anything but. "I thought you might be alone."

Steve presses his lips together and cocks his head up at Clint. "What do you need?"

That is her cue to go. Wanda stands, drawing two sets of eyes to her. "I would like a shower, anyway. Don't get up - I can find it myself." She pauses, and then lets out a quiet, "thank you" before she pushes past Clint and heads out. There is a silence behind her, and she thinks of how grateful she is of both Clint and Steve. Clint, who is still playing the role of a father figure, and Steve who is not playing any role at all. He is just Steve, goodness and innocence and pure, and it is laughable at how Clint could think otherwise. Her face feels weird, and she realises that is smiling an honest, to God smile. It feels foreign and odd, but it doesn't feel wrong, and so, she stretches her lips even wider.

Just as she told Steve, she manages to find the shower. Not exactly on her own. She's still not sure what to think of T'Challa, who is very quiet and watchful of her. She's heard what happened between him and Zemo, and knows the mercy and good judgement that T'Challa showed. How hard it must have been, to not act upon the one who was responsible for your father's death. Wanda knows that she would not have been as strong. Besides, she's never been a good person. She can do good things, and she fights for what she believes is right, but there is too much bad in her. It had been Pietro that had been the good one. The smile slips off her face as she steps into the shower, and she stays under the water for over half an hour, scrubbing until she is red and raw. It's not enough, but she's not sure what else she can do. How can you physically reach inside of yourself, to clean what is now a part of you?

"Wanda, are you alright in there?"

She sighs and leans her head against the wall. Of course Steve would come. Doesn't he always follow through?

"I am alright, Steve. Thank you," she calls out, and waits for him to retreat. But he doesn't.

"I've made everyone breakfast." He doesn't say it, but she knows that if she doesn't make an appearance in the next ten minutes, he will come in and drag her out himself. Modestly, of course. And so she turns the taps off and steps out, wrapping herself in a bathrobe that their host was kind enough to give her. It covers her red and chaffed skin, and she makes sure the rest of herself is presentable before she slips out, feet padding softly against the tiled floor. They are all there, waiting for her. Steve and Clint, tension gone now. Sam and T'Challa. She takes a seat beside the latter, and he looks down at her. There's that look again, soft and kind, wary and strong, and under it, all her unease flees. There is something about T'Challa that she cannot put into words, but she likes being around him. He hands her a full plate, and she looks down at it.

She should be hungry.

But she's not. In fact, if she doesn't get away, she's going to be sick. She can feel the pulse throbbing at her neck and her breath stutters against it, causing T'Challa to look back over at her. His movements cause the others to turn their attention to her as well, and for a moment time slows down. She can either bolt from the table and ruin it for everyone, or she can stop being selfish and pretend that something as simple as eating is alright. That she's fine. She chooses the latter option again, and pretends to sneeze.

"Excuse me," she says sweetly, and everyone laughs at her and 'blesses her', but Steve's eyes are narrowed on her, and T'Challa looks as if he doesn't believe her. She glances up at him, and there must be something desperate in her expression because he doesn't press the matter, but simply passes her a glass of juice. She takes it and tentatively takes a sip, and it almost gets stuck going down, and she wonders how she's going to eat when all she can think about is the last time she ate food.

 _I'll just have to manage, won't I?_ She thinks to herself, and picks up her fork, spearing it into bacon.

 _You're like an open book. No one has to wonder what you're thinking. Get it?_ Pietro's voice floats in again, and she clenches her fingers against her cutlery, and it's the first time she wishes the voice would just _shut up_ , because she's in public, and she cannot lose it. She cannot keep being this girl, no matter how good it felt last night to sleep beside someone, or how nice it feels to have someone care enough to check on her. And so with a newfound determination, she pops the food in her mouth, and coaches herself through biting and swallowing, promising herself that she just has to get through this, and then she can get it out of her system. _Just one more bite. Just one more smile. You can do this. You have done much worse. You have_ been _through much worse._

It comes easier than it should, pretending. She smiles and laughs at all the right places, she participates, she eats and drinks. She thinks she's done well enough, but she sees Clint and Steve look at each other, and she knows she's failed. She pushes her plate away and stands up.

"Thank you for breakfast, Steve. It was lovely. Would you like me to help clean up?" _Please don't make me. I have to go. Please let me go._ Her wrists are flaring, and her skin aches from where her nails are digging into it. Steve looks up at her, and he smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"No, Wanda. But thank you. I have it from here." And with his permission to be dismissed, she flees. It takes the rest of her strength to walk around the corner, and then, spent and drained, she makes a beeline for the toilet. She barely manages to lift the seat up before she is expelling all the contents in her stomach. Her hands are at her head, and she's rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her face.

"It hurts, it hurts. I cannot do this anymore," she says over and over, and Pietro must still be looking out for her, because suddenly the door is opened and someone is pulling her up, cradling her to them like she is a child. The toilet flushes, and she's a sweaty, crying mess with vomit on her face, but it doesn't matter to the person who is holding her.

"Come on, Wanda. I will get you a bucket, but I want you to lie down. Can you manage that?" It is the wrong thing to say. Steve is not perfect, she forgets because he is so close to it. His face falls, and she lets out a watery chuckle.

"I always manage."

He grits his teeth and does not respond, but she can tell that he wants to. He wants to yell at her, but he has always been the one who is good at putting others above himself, and so he keeps quiet and lays her on the bed, disappearing and coming back with a bucket.

"Hey, look. Are you hot in that?" He points to her dressing gown, and she nods, her face flushed. "They say I am the man of many jobs, but this one is not for me. Clint is the father. I am..." he trails off, his brow wrinkled as he thinks what to classify them as. Wanda lets him off easy.

"I get it. It is an awkward job."

Steve is scowling, and then he mumbles something that sounds close to, "screw it" before he's looking through drawers and pulling out a large shirt. It is big enough to cover her frame, even if she wears nothing else under it. Steve hands it to her, and then helps her sit up. Wanda is so dizzy that she begins to tilt, and Steve's hands clamp down on her shoulders, keeping her in place.

"Whoa, hey. Alright. Come on. Arms out of the robe," he says, and even though everything is hazy, Steve's voice is loud and strong. She feels like a boat heading for the rocks, and he is the beacon of light guiding her away. It is cheesy, and no doubt Pietro would laugh. Or, if he were here, he would be jealous, because he has always been that for her.

Steve's gaze is very intense on her face as the robe falls away from her body. He slips the shirt over her head, helping her to pull her arms through the sleeves, before pushing her back down. She swings bare legs up and under the covers, turning away from him, and the last image she has of Steve is with him hovering over her, a hand pressed against his mouth, and then it fades to black.


	8. The Way You Left Me

**A/N: Someone asked if I would venture out to other characters.. who else would you like to see, and what would you like to see?**

 **This chapter ran away with me. I did not know it was going to happen but I think you will be happy? I don't know. Please if you're still around, please let me know your thoughts! I've also almost got the next chapter posted. :)**

 **Also - Wanda talks about her family here, and obviously, it is not based on any truth. Just an FYI.**

* * *

When Wanda wakes, she has to do a double take, because Steve's eyes are red, and they remind her of what she looks like when her own glow. When she does, she realises they are just red rimmed, as if he has taken his pain and dabbed it underneath - like a personal brand of eyeliner. She swallows and pushes herself onto her elbows, waiting for him to say something. Captain America always has something to say, even if you do not wish to hear it. Especially then.

Steve meets her gaze direct, and he doesn't even have to say it in words. The infamous _te_ _ll me now, or else.._.

"It wasn't often, but when they would feed me, they liked to show me videos of the death I was responsible for. They were very precise, and the pictures were always...vivid," she says this slowly, but it does nothing to lessen the blow to Steve, who shoots up on his feet as if he's prepared to launch off this very second. And, Wanda thinks that is entirely a possibility. But when he speaks, it is in the calmest of tones.

"Is there anything else?"

"That is all of it."

"But not," Steve disagrees. "You have omitted much - how it felt, their exact words. I wish it wasn't something that we did, but it is. We deny it to ourselves, to those closest who wish to only to help." Steve turns from her, and she reaches out, but stops herself at the last moment, her fingers going back to her lap.

"There are some wounds that are deep to the spirit, Steve. They do not heal easily. And like a physical mark, they are always there. Ugly, raw, and when you think gone, they are flaring up again at the smallest inconvenience, if only to remind you that they are still there. But time shifts everything. It does not stop for no man, or woman. Although," and here, she gives a small smile. "It was different for Pietro. But he was always like that, making things bend to his will, doing what should have been impossible."

"And you followed in his footsteps."

"Yes," Wanda says fondly. "That was me, always running to keep up with my older brother."

There is a peaceful silence then, and Wanda wishes she could keep talking to Steve about her past. She could tell him many things about her childhood - of the time before. She could tell Steve about how kind and warm her mother was, something she has always struggled with in her later years. She could tell him about how her father loved to make his family laugh, and how great a listener he was, although it was always her mother who had the wise words.

"What are you thinking about?" Steve asks her, and his voice is so soft and gentle, like she is a newborn whom he doesn't want to disturb. She opens her mouth to dismiss this, but stops. He's looking at her so tenderly that she feels responding with anything less than honest would be an insult. Besides, Steve has given her so much, and continues to give, even when he's not trying. It is time to give some good back.

"I was thinking of my childhood, and how good it was."

Steve is quiet for so long that Wanda's sure he is not going to say anything. But then he does.

"I wouldn't call my childhood anything great. Can you tell me about yours?"

And suddenly, she wants to. She wants to talk about good things. She wants to talk about her brother, the one closest to her heart, who will never leave her, because even in death she is still bound to him. She wants to talk about her mother, and her father, and the friends she used to have. She wants to talk about letting go of the grudge she has against Tony, because it was and still is an important part in her life.

"My mother was beautiful. Pietro took after her - I was dark like my father. Perhaps that was why we got along so well. But I did not dismiss my mother, who was the best person you could turn to for advice. My friends would often come over and then talk to her. It used to annoy me, at first. But as I got older, I understood the importance of good role models and influences in your life. A lot of these people did not have that. As for my father, he was the one I went to when I was upset, because he could always make me laugh, and he would listen without judgement. Pietro of course, was a mumma's boy. But he, like me, made time for his father. There was no competition, no one was ever left out. We would just be, and I think that is one of things I miss most. It was my father who was the protective one, and he drove this into Pietro, but I think, it was unnecessary. My mother would laugh and let them get on with it - she always believed that I would be okay. I wonder how she feels about me now. I can hear my brother, but I cannot hear her, nor can I hear my father." Wanda falls silent, and it is only when Steve's hand comes out to her face, stopping just inches before it to show his intentions before dropping below her eye, wiping the tear away, does she realise she has started to cry. In a move that is supposed to be comforting, it is anything but. Fire explodes through Wanda's stomach, and she releases a little breath at the impact of it. It is hot hot hot, and her mouth is dry, and she wonders how she is not steaming from it. Steve goes rigid, and she wonders if he feels it too because his eyes are burning as he stares at her. Wanda knows she should move, or continue talking and bring this to a safer territory, but Steve's fingers are still trailing against her skin, and it feels so good, that she can not move. She's quite certain that there would be nothing that could happen, that would make her move. It will have to be him. And of course, because he is Steve, he does, but she sees that he is unsteady, his hands very close to shaking as he steps away from her.

"Make no mistake Wanda, your parents would be proud of the woman you are today. And they would understand, why you did what you did. It no longer matters about that. It matters what you're doing about it now." He says all of this quietly, and then spins on his heel and out the door, leaving her stunned into silence. It is the first time he has left without telling her, and she wonders now if this is how it's going to be after their moment. A first for many things.

* * *

"Hey, kid," Wanda startles, and Clint winces, but does not comment, instead bringing the tray of food that he is carrying around to her. Wanda uncurls her feet and places the book down on the table, just as Clint places the tray neatly beside it. He then pushes past her legs and sits down on the lounge beside her.

"Good book?" He asks her, and she shrugs her shoulders.

"It is very interesting, so I cannot complain. What is this?" She juts her head at the food, face crinkled at the variety. "Is this for me?"

"For both of us. I was hoping we could have lunch together."

Wanda finds herself beaming up at him. It is such a Clint gesture, and how can she not give credit where it is due? And Clint sounds nervous, as if he thinks she would deny him this.

"Of course. When was the last time we did this?"

"At some cafe. Oh wait, do you mean uninterrupted? Uh...that restaurant that ended up giving us food poisoning?" Clint wrinkles his noise in displeasure, and Wanda presses her lips together to hold back a smile. It is a memory that she treasures, her and Clint tangled up together in the bathroom, taking turns vomiting. Clint would hold back her hair, even when he himself looked as if he were seconds from following her. It was Clint that pushed himself up to get them water, Clint who wrapped her up in a blanket after she got the shakes. Wanda did not know why Clint, Steve and Vision all rushed to take care of her. She was undeserving of such things, of such love from such men.

 _Oh little sister,_ a voice sighed in her ear, and she swallowed, ignoring it as she turned to Clint, who was watching her.

"I wish we had candles. It is dark enough for it," she said, and her words were a trigger, because Clint dug into his pockets and placed two candles and a lighter onto the table.

"You thought of everything," Wanda says softly as he lit them, her eyes following the sway of the flames.

"Of course. I am insulted that you sound so surprised. I am not a halfway man."

"No, you're not. You are many things, Clint Barton, but a man that does things halfway, is not one of them."

"Damn. I got to get the drinks so we can cheer to that. Hold up," Clint is like an overexcited puppy as he bounces up and retreats, and Wanda stares at the food that is still neatly covered. She can't deny she is hungry, because she is. But she's also terrified that she won't be able to keep it down, terrified to continue to be a burden, someone that they have to worry about. She wonders if it's because of the moment she and Steve shared, that gave her that push she needed to drop the pretenses of moving on, and really do it. She wants Steve to look at her like - well, she's not exactly sure. Perhaps like an equal, someone that he can trust and confide in. Someone who can take care of him, too. Besides, she already has a father figure. And, she needs to take that weight off of Clint's shoulders, and what better way to speak of these things, in a situation that she is used to, and has grown to love, with someone she loves.

Wanda frowns as she hears heavy footsteps - not the light trots of Clint - and stands, her hands rising, only to still at her sides as she sees that it is indeed Clint. She goes to open her mouth, but the reason for his heaviness becomes apparent as Vision comes into view behind him. Wanda looks at Clint, who is looking at her, and then glances back to Vision. She cannot help but feel a little frustrated, and disappointed that once again there is an interruption.

"Hello, Vision," her voice is polite, almost mechanical, and this seems to stop Vision in his tracks.

"Good afternoon, Wanda. How are you feeling today?"

"I'm feeling good. And - and I would like it to stay that way." She sees Clint's head snap up at this, and the way that he stands taller, ready to intervene should Wanda say so.

"Oh. I can leave, if you would like. I am sorry, it is very hard to try and organize a time to see you. I do not wish to alert anyone of where you are. Forgive me." He turns to go, obviously dejected, and Wanda is tempted, so tempted to let him. But she can't.

"Wait. It is alright. Would you like to join us? I know you cannot eat, but..." She trails off, almost sounding awkward, and very aware of the glare that Clint is shooting her. She turns to face him.

"What is the issue here, Clint? Vision is not the enemy and he never was. I do not hold anything against him. Why do you?"

For a moment Clint looks stunned at her blunt speech, his eyes darting to Vision and then back to hers. But it is not him that speaks, it is Vision.

"Clint feels very responsible for you, Wanda. It is because you were hurt, and because of my part in it that he acts the way that he is. I can't say that I blame him for that. Also," and here, his tone shifts, and he sounds awkward instead of matter of fact. "It could be the fact that he is uncomfortable with our...relationship."

Now it is Wanda who is stunned by such an honest answer, and Clint folds his arms against his chest and nods, not at all embarrassed.

"Yep. That's exactly right. And besides, you're saying with Tony Stark, and that's enough to make me wary of you. But the kid wants you to join, and so you'll join, and you'll enjoy it. I had to beg for this bottle," Clint brushes past Wanda, who is smirking, before she looks up at Vision and gives him a little shrug, all the while thinking over he had said. What exactly was her relationship with Vision? It had been something before, that, she had known. That's what her life seemed to amount to these days, one big many 'before's'. She had known what she had felt for Vision, but as for him? They had never discussed it. It had always been innocent - shy glances and touches, defense and protection. Warm. But there had nothing none of what she had felt for Steve, no hot feeling, no need to run and stand still at the same time.

"You two going to take a seat?" Clint interrupted, and Wanda realizes that she and Vision are still standing directly across from each other. She turns on her heel and sits back down on the lounge beside Clint, and Vision takes the single seat opposite.

"I am a little far away from the table," he says as she and Clint began to pick out their food. "But I suppose it doesn't matter, for you're right. I can't partake in this, but it does look lovely. The candles are a beautiful touch."

Clint looks at her as if to say _really?_ And she hope that gets the message of her own look. _Yes. Be nice._

 _"_ All thanks to Clint here. This is - we do this sometimes, when we can. It is not very often, unfortunately, but I am always appreciative when it is possible for us to go," Wanda tells Vision as she settles back, the plate in her lap now. Clint is quiet, though it is obvious he is attentive. He shows no reaction to Wanda's words.

"Why do you do this?" Vision asks, and then thinks, and reframes his question. "What is it that you like so much about it?"

"For me, it is an escape. A snatch of normalcy. It is outside my world. The only downside is the company," Wanda looks to Clint, who throws a piece of pasta at her in response.

"Need I remind you that after the first time I took you, you begged and begged to go again? Should we talk about that?"

"But who begged more so?" Wanda shoots back, and Clint flushes as he stabs at his pasta with his fork.

"Okay, but that was only a couple of times, and that was because Natasha wouldn't come with me to try the food," Clint grumbles, and Wanda rolls her eyes, because she knows that this is not entirely true.

"I don't believe it was the food Natasha was avoiding. You can be a bit of a child, but while Natasha doesn't take a fancy to it, I am rather amused by your antics. We have a list, Vision," Wanda turns to the android now, who looks fascinated by the conversation. "A list of things we have to pull off. It is not always. But if we are feeling like a challenge, per say..."

"You know. As our lives are so boring," Clint mutters, and is ignored.

"What kind of challenges?"

Wanda raises her eyebrows at Clint, who shakes his head. "Oh no. I am taking that to the grave. Well, I may tell my children when they are not so impressionable. Thank God they have more Laura in them then me."

"There is still hope for Nathanial. After all, he carries my brother's name in his, and so he must live up to it."

"And you will be around, I'm sure, to make sure he does." They lock eyes; the joking has turned rather serious now. Wanda nods, but that isn't enough for Clint, who continues to hold her gaze, demanding more. What is she supposed to do - make a promise that she isn't sure that she can keep? That is not fair on anyone, and so she settles for the next best thing, which is the truth, and so it must be enough.

"I will do my best."

"And as the saying goes, that is all anyone can do." Vision says quietly, and Wanda offers him a smile, her eyes going to her food now. She knows that it's not going to go unnoticed that she hasn't tried yet, and hadn't she said that she would do her best? So she picks up her fork and brings it up. Her hand shakes, and her lips press together, not of her own accord, and her utensil clutters back to her plate.

"Perhaps," Vision says gravely, "we should put the television on? Maybe that will help?"

Wanda doesn't think it will, and Clint looks ready to reject the idea outright. She does not want to ruin the mood, so before he can she gives the okay to do so, thinking that Vision is speaking about a kid's cartoon to lighten the mood. It flicks on, and then suddenly she is sending it flying into the wall, because there is a reporter speaking about them, and it is not as simple and easy as running their names through the mud, but worse. It is her torture all over again, her punishment, and why did she think that she could ever escape it? She is never going to have a normal life. Not after what she had done. Clint is shouting at Vision, who as far as she can tell stands there and takes it. She flings the food away and then puts her head into her hands, wishing that she could teleport to her room, but she cannot, and if she tries to move she thinks she will fall.

"What is going on here?" It's Sam who finds them, looking both annoyed and concerned all at once. His face softens as he takes in Wanda, and he's by her side in moments.

"Damn. We really are a family. Alright Wanda, hey come on now," Sam helps her unfurl and puts his arm around her, guiding her out of the room and away from the yelling. She can hear the strain in Clint's voice, and knows that he's hurting, and not just for her, but for his family, and she curses Vision because he has ruined today, She had wished to speak to Clint about these things. She's not exactly mad at him, because his intentions as always are honourable. But she also can't feel guilty or sad that once again his visit had caused such an upheaval.

"I'm sorry Sam. Vision turned on the tv, and they were - they were cruel, so cruel. Please don't tell Steve. It is not so bad."

"I think he's gonna notice the tv," is all Sam says as they round the corner, and Wanda moves away from him, holding out a hand.

"I am all good. See? Where is Steve anyway?"

"Uh...he is out," Sam scratches his head; he's not a very good liar, but Wanda won't betray his trust to read his mind. It is none of her business, anyway.

"Good," she says instead, and looks at him boldly before moving past him and back to where Clint and Vision were.

"Wanda, what are you doing?" Sam follows her and looks ready to drag her back out, but Wanda marches up to Vision and stands directly in front of him.

"I want to see Tony Stark. I want a press conference. It's time things were set to rights. I am tired of being silent, it does nothing. Besides, the people deserve to hear from us." She turns to Clint, who has taken a step forwards and is wearing a face of aggression.

"No Clint, I am doing this. I _need_ to do this."

"You know that you're only doing it now because Steve would stop you otherwise," Sam says quietly. "And Steve only stops people from doing the wrong thing. You know this, Wanda."

"I know that other people's opinions on what is wrong - doesn't make it wrong. And isn't that the problem?" Wanda says back, and Sam looks like he has more to say but wisely keeps his mouth shut, though the worry on his face does not fade. Wanda turns to Clint; she does not need his approval, but she would like his support. Clint looks conflicted, as if he can see her point but wishes that he didn't.

"I don't want you to do this for selfish reasons. You would lay yourself open for an attack. I don't want to see you any more hurt than you are," he tells her gently.

"It is time to face the music," Wanda says, and then turns to Vision, who looks stricken. No doubt she has stunned him into silence.

"Vision, if you do not do this for me, I will just go out there. Better if this is set up, and controlled by Tony Stark, no?" She cannot believe the words she has just said, nor can she believe the belief she has in them.

"Okay," Vision finally agrees, though his voice is as soft as the others, belaying that he feels exactly the same.

"I will take you to see Tony Stark."


End file.
